Just a Feeling
by PockyPhoto
Summary: They fooled each other with unspoken words until the day the walls crumbled piece by piece.  Kakashi/Sakura oneshot.


**A/N:** This is my entry for Week 4 of the Poe challenge at the KakaSaku LJ. The theme for this week is "Ether of sighs." The phrase comes from Edgar Allen Poe's "Ulalume," which focused on sound to express a man's loss of a woman due to her death. The character of Poe's poem had a "volcanic heart", having a "sober talk with his soul" and unconsciously took a walk that led him to the grave of Ulalume. I present you my interpretation of those themes into a KakaSaku oneshot. Read, review, and enjoy~ (I don't own Naruto.)

* * *

_Just a Feeling_

* * *

It was a perfect day for a wedding...to cover up a murder. The event was superb. Every detail of the wedding was beautiful, from the jewels that dangled on the various chandeliers to the extravagant napkins folded into flowers. Everybody was happy. They cheered. They drank. They blinded themselves from the truth. The best man boasted loudly and toasted to the groom with lies, utter lies that made the infamous Copy Ninja cringe to every word while he withdrew himself from the crowds, relent on observing from the corners. Naruto made a fool of himself. Ino made a move on everyone. Shikamaru tried to avoid Temari's implied comments about their own future wedding. They were all part of a fool's paradise, drunk on the smiles that they tried to delude each other with.

She was the worst of all, pretending that horrible grin plastered to her face was enough to fool him. She laced her hands with her husband's, and died. He could tell she was dying. She was crying to death beneath her skin, hoping nobody would notice. He didn't need to activate his sharingan to see what she was playing at. She smiled. Even _he _smiled, that bastard of an Uchiha. Nobody suspected a thing. Nobody saw "underneath the underneath," and he was disheartened to find none of his pupils had managed to keep that lesson etched into their souls. Nobody saw it like Kakashi did. Nobody witnessed the hands that Sasuke strangled his wife with, tracing his thumb over the ring he had placed on her nimble finger while he kissed those lovely lips of hers. Nobody witnessed Sasuke murder Sakura.

* * *

The lone Hatake spent the following year in grief, placing her marriage on the same platform as her death. She might as well have killed herself. He didn't want to feel it, that devastating disappointment she pinned on him. He would rather throw those issues directly at her, forcing her to confront those dreams and half-baked ideals from her 12-year-old self so she could rediscover that fire she had once lit inside her soul.

He hated her for doing this. And he hated himself for hating her. Beneath all his teachings of shutting off your emotions,and letting bygones be bygones, he couldn't help nor deny the horrible pain that constantly tried to burst from his chest. He was terribly heart-broken, and he knew it.

He ached, and he _ached_ for those memories he shared with her. He tried to grasp on to them for as long as he could before her very soul would die out until not a sparkle was left in those emerald eyes. Between being holed up in the grim reaper's mansion or working herself to death at the hospital, Kakashi only barely got the time of day to visit unexpectedly and say 'hello.' It wasn't even what he really wanted to tell her. He didn't care if she was having a good morning or not. He wanted to just kidnap her for something as simple as sharing ramen for lunch.

It was too bad she was long gone. If there was even the slightest bit of rebellion left in her, that spark that he coaxed from her sharp-witted tongue which never dared to speak to her husband, Kakashi would vow to snatch that flicker of fiery passion sleeping within her suppressed soul.

By _god__, _he missed her.

He could never forget her image. As poor of an excuse it was to use his sharingan, the very exquisite details of her beauty had long been etched into his mind, saved for that one day on the battlefield when he would smoke his last cigarette. Yet, even a sketch of her body didn't do justice for the moments he wanted to conjure again and again. More than just her smile, he missed the sounds she made, the very sounds he was afraid would dissolve into forgotten memories the next morning.

He missed the way she smacked her lips when she drank a sip of water. He missed the sighs that left her lips when she rested her head on his shoulder after a tedious day of traveling. He missed the songs she hummed when she fed him slices of fruit during his recovery from the lethal wounds of battles. Even the annoying tapping of her pencil against the desk to that insipid song stuck in her head was a sound he cherished.

The only sound he heard from Sakura since her marriage was the moans and sighs that escaped the newlyweds' open bedroom window when he made his usual patrol around the village. A night full of alcohol had never been enough to suppress the pain of hearing her scream Sasuke's name. At least Kakashi could take the slightest bit of happiness in being able to distinguish she faked her orgasms. As much as Sasuke put a front up to Naruto and the rest of village of his love for Sakura, he was no different than the selfish drunks who delighted themselves to brothels.

Kakashi could only dream about how he would please Sakura if her body was writhing beneath his. He would entice her to scream _his_ name as he showered her with kisses, forcing her to reach climax after climax without a moment to pause before he started all over again.

Nevertheless, in the end, it was just a perverted, erotic fantasy from a perverted, old man.

Kakashi sighed as his lone eye regarded the Uchiha nameplate of the estate. Considering Sakura left the house more of a zombie than any nurse or ninja, they might as well have placed a tombstone in their front yard. It would match the skeleton of a tree that Sakura planted beside the porch. She never did have a green thumb.

Maybe his depression from Sakura's metaphorical death led him to her grave. Or maybe he was just fed up with waiting a whole year to finally work up the courage to ease his way back into her life, but here he was, standing at her front door without a clue for what excuse he could muster from his stack of unbelievable lies. He could always turn back, but what would be the point of adding on to his list of regrets when he was still suffering from his last mistake?

The back of his knuckles rapped against the dark frame of the door, the black stain of the oak only complementing Sakura's dreary situation. His heart might have skipped a beat as he recognized those familiar footsteps scurrying across the hardwood floors, yet his outward appearance displayed not the slightest bit of movement. The clicks of the useless locks in a hidden ninja village echoed in his ears. The somber shade of her heavy eyes peeked through that narrow sliver of an opening as she merged from behind the shadows of the door. What had once been tints of emeralds were now the stale tones of forest green. Her skin was pale, a deathly pale that had not seen the light of sun for the duration of her marriage. Kakashi wasn't sure if his heart was pounding because he was finally confronting the woman of his dreams, or if he was spooked by her walking corpse.

The lack of emotion in her eyes matched the absence of reaction in her voice. "Kakashi."

He had to strive to hear her whisper. "Sakura," he cleared his throat. He tried to summon the nerves for a smile, but there wasn't much of a reason to keep it together. "It's been so long. I had a feeling I should come visit."

"It's been a while, I know. I've...been busy," her vocals delivered weak and soft. "But please, come in." Her fragile hands slid the door open wide to invite him in to her new abode, a dim house of shadows and lost dreams. His soft footsteps crossed the threshold, echoing his daring move to intrude on Sakura's grim prison.

The house was unlit and bare, having only the necessities of getting by. No hanging photographs adorned the walls, nor did there seem to be any vivid colors to pick out other than Sakura's rosette locks, and even the hue of her hair had faded away with her smile.

The smell of her cooking soothed his senses as he followed her to the kitchen. He noted their living room stocked with books upon books, a lounge of comfort and entertainment replaced by an empty library and a lone ticking clock. The open windows illuminated the place with natural light, but it did little to nothing to brighten the mood. The kitchen itself was small and cramped; an oven and stove in one corner with a cupboard of china directly behind him. What sunlight that was available on this cloudy day brought more dust than luster on the porcelain.

"I'm almost finished with soup. Have some before you leave," her gentle voice requested as the wooden spoon twirled in a slow and silent motion in her broth.

Kakashi leaned against the bland counter of the puny kitchen, registering the words in his mind, but he couldn't make a sound when he was so focused on her cheerless expression that was distantly fixed on her task. Was it too late to save a withering soul?

"You're so quiet," she commented, her attention to the stove unwavering.

"I'm afraid to try it," he spoke, forcing himself to mask his concern beneath a sturdy front. "You have horrible cooking skills."

"You're a horrible liar. You love my cooking."

Her subtle and sharp tongue lifted his spirits, no different than if Cupid had shot an arrow through his arm or leg. There was hope in Sakura, and that was all he needed to witness. It was nearly invisible, barely hanging on by its last piece of thread, but it wasn't too late. Her endurance through a year of passive abuse still survived. Sakura looked no different than the walking dead, but at least he could reach out to her before she passed the point of no return.

Kakashi's eyes never tore away from her face. Despite her ghostly image, did Sasuke not see the beauty in her, the same beauty that he had been fantasizing about these past 12 months?

"I see you charmed Sasuke through his stomach, then," he spoke.

"No," she stated. "Through my uterus." She spoke as if this was just a matter of fact, no different than the statistical information in her medical research. At least she didn't still blind herself with non-existent love.

"He wants a son."

"It's been an entire year. He'll be happy with just a daughter at this point." The frown was apparent, and Kakashi asked nothing more about it. To push any further would cause the two to dip deeper in their own mistakes.

"I think it's done now," she said, the strength in her voice no more louder than when she greeted him at the door. The wooden spoon poised at her lips for a quiet slurp of the broth, but her reaction was indifferent. She moved to set the utensil to the side, but Kakashi grasped her hand in his, the spoon loose in their palms.

A year ago, Sakura would not have appreciated her personal space being invaded upon. If it was Naruto, she may have even had the audacity to yell and hit him on the head with the very spoon they were holding. Instead, her dim eyes slowly blinked and regarded him with a soul-less gaze.

"I'd like to taste," Kakashi told her, quite aware he was on the boundary of tempting a married woman whose hand was in his. He eased his hold on her and watched for a sign of spirit within those darkened orbs. It may not be lively or full of vigor, but at this point, he was praying the essence within her eyes would just hold on for that one day in the future when she could pull herself back from the grave she'd fallen into.

"I thought you were afraid of my cooking."

"I have my bold moments," he shrugged.

"Then shouldn't you take off your mask?"

Only for her. It was for Sakura, and only Sakura, because he missed her and cherished her and wanted her. Only because she needed to be saved.

His finger hooked beneath his mask to slowly reveal the long-time secret of his identity, but he honestly could care less about his disguises. The only thing that mattered at that moment was how intense Sakura was watching his movement, not unlike teasing yourself as you painstakingly take your time to unwrap a Christmas present.

The silent shift of his mask bundled to his neck would have been the only noise in the kitchen had his heart not been beating so loudly. There was the most brief passing of thought that he wished she could hear it, too. Nevertheless, she remained glued to her apathetic expression, hardly displaying any signs of awe or wonder, except for a whisper underneath her breath that Kakashi swore sounded like "handsome."

Sakura dipped the spoon in her soup, paying little attention to his features. Yet, as her steady hand offered for him to taste, her eyes riveted to his lips as he licked them before sipping the broth. Kakashi wanted to say there was the lightest glint of her eyes, but he could have been mistaken. She turned away like his facial features made no difference to her, but one hand on the pot handle squeezed tightly as the other finally set the spoon down. It didn't escape his notice.

"It's better than the hospital's," he nodded approvingly. Accustomed to ramen and leftover takeouts night after night, he had forgotten the exotic taste of her cuisine. Sasuke surely must have fallen for her cooking since he obviously couldn't see the woman in front of him.

"I wouldn't know. You always stole mine when I went to get crackers," she mused, reaching her arm behind him for the china. Her voice was firm and somewhat louder now, her tone no longer monotonous even if it was still wearisome.

"I didn't steal it," Kakashi disputed. "You lost your bowl of soup. I always happened to find it next to me."

"And you always ate it."

"Except one time," he argued. "You told me you spat in it."

"I came back and you said you spat in it too."

"I lied."

"I did too," a tiny tug of her lips showing.

Kakashi smiled, for he had won. It was the most simple of presents she could offer him, but it was all he asked for, to see a sign of that strong spirit he had always known in her. For that short moment, they had overcome the barrier between them. She was still a zombie of the woman he once knew, but she was aware that he was reaching out for her. And she was responding with gentle gifts.

Too eager for his own good, he blatantly confessed, "I miss you."

There was a brief pause of silence. She looked at him with a tilt of her head, that soft smile still on her pale lips. "I miss you too."

Kakashi wanted to drown himself, drown himself in the smiles she granted him, and to steal many more from Sasuke's unknowing watch. He wanted to steal her, and love her. He wanted to tell her.

"I always...had a feeling," he admitted, stopping short on professing more than need be. Even if his wants and needs could not be same as Sakura's own desires, he had already walked this far to confront both their miseries. Another step and who knew how the outcome would play out. There were only two results: Sakura reverting further into her grim ordeal, or Sakura holding on to the hand he reached out to her. He didn't think he had it in him to risk the former.

The warm soup poured into their separate bowls, the delicious smell of her cuisine casting its exquisite aroma through the small kitchen like a spell. She held the bowl between her delicate hands, offering it as the metal spoon clinked against the dish. Kakashi covered her hands with his, but paid no heed to the soup. Her emerald eyes locked with his lone charcoal orb, and he saw all he had dreamed of since the day she married. It was a silent plea that begged from within her muted soul, a desperate longing for an escape. It wasn't fiery or passionate, but it was evident.

He could tell the heat from the bowl of soup was burning her hands, but she said nothing about it. He only provided her with an earnest yearn to save her from herself, yet he was having a terrible time trying to restrain himself.

Kakashi raised one hand to cup her chin in his palm, his thumb just barely brushing the edge of her lips. "You have soup on the corner of your mouth."

Her voice was soft and gentle, but she still smiled. "Did I mention you're a horrible liar?"

"Then let's pretend you do."

The bowl of soup clattered to the hardwood floor, the spoon sliding across the boards. Her hands clutched to his shirt in desperation, fingers wrapped tightly in the fabric. Kakashi held her close to him, his uncovered lips pressed devotedly to hers. He embraced her like he had always wanted to, and kissed her like he had always dreamed of. It was a kiss to save him from grief, and a kiss to save her from death. She pressed back, firm and unwavering. His lips tugged on hers as she took pleasure in the comfort he offered, and a sigh escaped her when he kissed her once more. It lingered between them longer than it should have for a man to be intimate with his married student, but he didn't want to muster the courage to let her go again.

Even so, her hold on him let up and he was forced to confront the loss of her lips against his.

She didn't look at him. "You should go now."

Kakashi's grip on her waist squeezed. It was like having a pin stabbed through his chest, but he had already predicted his departure would be unpleasant. "Sakura, I-"

Her fingertip covered his moist lips, and she stared at him. She saw the loneliness he suffered from the past year and she saw the desperate desire he wanted to share with her. "I know, Kakashi. I know. It's... just a feeling you have."

* * *

The shards of china porcelain jingled in her fragile palms as she bent over the mess, picking up piece after piece. The sopping towel, soaked from the spilled remains of soup, dripped from the edge of the kitchen sink, no louder than the ticks of the clock that echoed. It was always quiet.

She could sense him now, only steps away from the door. It used to be that chill she felt when his uncanny chakra was within range, a sharp impression onto her nerves. Unsure exactly how or when, that bone-shivering sensation nonetheless developed into a tremor that ran down her spines at the consciousness of his presence, until it was a fact of life she grew immune to.

The click of the front door accompanied his quiet footsteps in the empty house. She rose up to her feet with the various broken bits of chinaware in her hand. He looked at the shattered fragments but said nothing about it. He kissed her softly on the cheek, not a sound to be heard from the gesture. He left the kitchen to toss his heavy weights on the hardwood floor of the living den.

"What was the result?" he asked.

She dumped the shards into the trash and merged from the tiny kitchen to watch his stoic face. "It's negative. Again," she replied.

He let out a sigh of exasperation, his eyes fixed on her with agitation. "Then, let's try again tonight," the subtle impatience in his tone crystal clear.

"Sasuke," she spoke, her gaze wandering to the front door. "I want a divorce."


End file.
